The Bed I Made-Sunshine1220
by The Pick-A-Prompt Contest
Summary: When time can't erase our wounds, even those we inflict on ourselves, we search for comfort, for the familiar. We go back to where we remember being happy.


**2018 TFN Pick-A-Prompt Contest**

 **Title:** The Bed I Made

 **Summary:** When time can't erase our wounds, even those we inflict on ourselves, we search for comfort, for the familiar. We go back to where we remember being happy.

 **Pairing:** Edward/Bella

 **Rating:** M

 **Word Count:** _5545_

 **DISCLAIMER:** Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Prompt Quote:** I left my husband a year ago, but I sneak into his house and sleep in his bed because I miss him so much. He never changes his sheets so I can smell him.

 **xXx**

My car slows to a stop more than half a block away, and I cut the engine. The sun sank into the earth nearly an hour ago, its faint light fading fast as the minutes pass. As I watch the lights shining from inside move from room to room, in my mind's eye I can see _him_ moving from room to room, rushing to make it out the door on time.

When the living room lamp comes on, I can't stop the flood of memories from the last time we shared that space.

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" _Bella,_ _you ... you_ _can't leave me. I can't survive without you!" His begging and pleading are nearly my undoing._

" _You heard the doctor. I'll never be able to give you what you want, the life we planned! Never!" I scream. The tears falling from my eyes hit my cheeks like shards of glass, cutting through both our hearts. All the pain and regret have finally become too_ _much_ _and_ _we're both collapsing under the weight of it all._

" _I don't care. This, all the plans we had don't mean a fucking thing without you!" He's on his knees now, fallen at my feet to try and salvage the wreckage our life_ _together_ _has become._

" _I can't live like this anymore. Every month that passes, every time we lose one, I can't do it anymore. I can't look at you without feeling like I've failed you, failed us."_

 _He inches closer, flinging his arms around my waist. "You haven't failed me, Bella, you haven't done anything wrong. If anything_ I've _failed_ you _." His tears pierce me, cut me to the core, and the pain is worse than the physical ache I still feel from last night's visit to the emergency room. As he pushes his head into my abdomen, I welcome the pain. It's a feeling I recognize, something to keep me grounded in reality._

" _I'm sorry, Edward." My voice is hollow,_ _empty, like_ _the hole in my heart left by year after year of disappointment. "You deserve better."_

 _With every ounce of strength I have left, I remove his warm, loving arms from my middle and step_ _away._ _I turn toward the door, a waiting cab just beyond._

" _Please don't do this. Please, Bella."_

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The sound of the front door slamming startles me from the memory that plays on a loop every evening as I wait in my car. My attention is drawn to the man running down the porch steps and to his car in the driveway, just like clockwork. He's juggling his messenger bag, his cell phone, and his travel mug all while fumbling for his keys. His tie is crooked, and his hair looks like he just rolled out of bed.

I guess some things never change.

I watch as he settles behind the wheel, starts the engine, and finally backs out of the driveway, speeding away down the road. I wait until his tail lights disappear from view as he turns the corner and heads to the hospital for his shift.

Just to be sure he isn't coming back for some forgotten necessity, I wait. It doesn't hurt to allow the light of the evening to disappear completely, giving me my much-needed cover.

As I step onto the porch, I'm careful to avoid the squeaky plank on the right. It's whined and groaned when tread upon since we bought the house nearly ten years ago, when we were two optimistic fools in love. Before we knew how cruel life could be.

I hold my breath as I slip my key into the door, the purple one he had made for me because he knew it was my favorite color.

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" _What? It's your favorite color; it makes you smile. And every time you look at it, you'll smile, thinking about home." He shrugs, and I nudge him, hard, all the while grinning like the fool in love that I am._

" _You're such a dork."_

 _He pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. "Yeah, but I'm your dork."_

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I pray like I do every time I'm here he hasn't changed the locks. When it slides in and turns, I sigh in relief.

The house is just as it was the day I walked out; the same pictures on the wall, the same, tired throw over the arm of the sofa, even the smell is familiar. He continues to write his schedule on the whiteboard in the kitchen, as if I'm still here to plan our lives around his shifts at the hospital. If he only knew that habit of his has been a lifeline, allowing me these nights, knowing his schedule. My time spent here is the only respite in my now-hellish existence.

The only difference in the once-orderly space, my absence apparent in the scattered dirty clothes, the full sink of dishes, the stack of empty pizza boxes, and take-out containers. My hands ball into fists, resisting the urge to bring the kitchen and the rest of the house to some semblance of order.

This place was once my pride and joy. We renovated this old house, turning four walls and a roof into a home; a home meant to fill with the family we both wanted. But with every loss, every denial of what we'd planned for, the walls began to close in on me. The sadness and disappointment in my husband's eyes just became too much to bear.

I pass by framed memories; pictures of family, old friends, the camping trips we used to take, graduations, weddings, and honorary nieces and nephews line the walls. My finger traces the image of my husband, his head thrown back in laughter at something his best friend must've just said to him. They're huddled around a campfire, our tents in the background; one of the happier times I can remember. The sight of his smile reminds me of the first time he passed through my orbit.

The first time I saw Edward Cullen, he was walking through the halls of Forks High, flanked by his best friend, Emmett McCarty, his head thrown back in laughter. I was new to Forks, just arriving to spend my junior and senior year with my father, and the sight of him had me speechless; frozen in place. I was so distracted by the sight of him, I never saw Tyler Crowley barreling my way as he tried to catch a football soaring down the hallway. 

He didn't see me, and I didn't see him, and the collision knocked the wind out of both of us, his head meeting the lockers, his elbow meeting my face. The bloody nose I had caused widespread panic, the girls I had just met screaming and garnering attention I would have rather not had.

But Edward and Emmett elbowed their way through the gathered crowd, my green-eyed savior scooping me into his arms to bring me to the nurse. For years he teased me about my fuzzy-headed greeting as he carried me to the nurse.

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" _You're sooo pretty," I say, my eyes wide, as my thumb and forefinger pinch my nose, trying to stop the flow of blood._

 _His chuckle sends warm tingles up my spine, his beautiful green eyes sparkling with amusement. "I was just thinking the same thing."_

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From that day forward, we were inseparable. What began as eating together at lunch with his friends, quickly turned into studying at his house and spending long hours on the phone every night. Careful, cautious kisses turned into tentative touches, loving declarations were followed by baring our souls, our bodies, and in time, giving ourselves the gifts of each other.

Our first year of undergrad was spent in the same co-ed dormitory, stealthily swapping roommates, allowing Emmett and Rose to also explore the freedom young adulthood afforded us.

The following years, we rented an apartment just for the two of us. While I got my English degree, he geared up for medical school. We spent that time spreading our wings, strengthening our bond, and making plans for our future.

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" _So, you want how many?" I know the wine has gone to my head when I can't stop giggling. I've lost track of how many glasses I've had, but I'm giddy and warm all over._

" _Let's see. How about..." His thoughtful expression makes me laugh. He hasn't even asked me to marry him yet, but he insists we need to decide, tonight, how many children we're going to have. "I think four should do it. Keeping you barefoot and pregnant should keep you out of trouble." His mischievous grin makes me laugh, in turn making him chuckle. His happiness is infectious._

" _Four!" I shove him, still laughing. He barely moves but reaches to pull me into his arms, nuzzling my neck. "I'm not having four babies! Have you seen how tiny my hips are?"_

 _He's still laughing. "I have. I'm_ intimately _acquainted with those hips of yours." He waggles his eyebrows. "But, Bella, baby, the human body is an amazing thing. I have no doubt you're more than able to have my babies."_

 _The mood shifts. What started out as a lighthearted conversation about a hypothetical future has changed into something serious, something_ _no longer hypothetical_ _._

" _Have your babies, huh?" I stare up into his eyes and see my future there._

" _Yeah," he whispers just before he leans closer to capture my lips with his._

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John Lennon once said, _Life is what happens while we're busy making other plans_. The years that followed were filled with so much happiness, but the plans we made seemed to fall apart. Life took a different path. That happiness we had early on soon faded into the sorrow and regret that still haunts me today.

The day I married him, just before he began his residency, was the happiest day of my life. As wide-eyed, naive twenty-six-year-olds, we thought we had the world in the palm of our hands. Our promises to love in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, would be put to the test much sooner than either of us realized.

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" _Oh, Edward, look at this!" The white crib is the center of the room, the realtor saving this one for last. The neutral shades of gray are a subtle contrast against the soft white of the walls._

 _He snakes his arms around me from behind. "It's perfect." He places a playful kiss on my neck. "So, how long before we get started on filling this place?"_

 _I quickly turn in his arms. "Really?" I ask, excitement running through me._

" _Yeah." He shrugs his shoulders, as if this isn't a monumental decision, choosing the house we'll make our home. "_ _It has_ _plenty of bedrooms and a big yard. The kitchen and bathrooms need to be renovated, but I think we can make it work. There's that little room in the attic overlooking the garden, too. Thought you could use that as your office so you could write."_

" _We're really doing this?"_

 _He smiles his crooked smile, my smile. "We're really doing this."_

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I meander down the hallway toward what was once our private haven, our place to hide away from the outside world and focus only on each other; the room where we created life, and he held me long after it slipped from our grasp.

As I pass through the door, I'm greeted with the sight of our king-sized, four-poster bed; a replacement for the simple headboard we once had. The dent in the drywall is still there. Proof of our passion, from days somewhere between _letting nature take its course_ and calendars and thermometers.

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" _Right there," I moan._

" _Right there?" He's breathless as he keeps up his relentless pace, his sweaty hair falling into his eyes. Our hands and limbs are_ _intertwined;_ _neither of us knowing where one of us ends and the other begins. His thrusts are powerful, inching us further up the bed with each one. The headboard_ _repeatedly_ _bangs against the_ _wall like it_ _does every time we're together._

" _Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" I squeeze my eyes shut as I scream out, lost in my euphoria._

" _Fuck!" He stills, pulsing into me, our bodies clinging ever tighter to each other._

 _When the haze of sex and need has cleared, our eyes meet._

" _Hi." I feel a giggle coming on, but bite my lip to stop it._

" _Hi." He pecks a kiss on my lips._

" _So we're really doing this?"_

 _His green eyes shine in the dim light of the room. "We are." I get another kiss before he rolls off, taking me with him as he goes and pulling me into his side, his hand finding my belly. "Maybe we already did."_

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" _So?"_

 _I shake my head, trying to fight the tears until he leaves for his shift. I can't let him_ _see my_ _disappointment, and I can't meet his eyes because I can't bear to see his. Month after month, almost a year, and_ _..._ _nothing. I'm beginning to lose faith in my own body._

 _He reaches down to tilt my chin up to look into my eyes._

" _It'll happen for us. I know it will." He tries to sound reassuring, but I can't help but feel like I'm failing us._

 _His kiss is gentle, his arms a comfort. It's what will help me get through the day. As he steps toward the door, I call out to him._

" _Edward?"_

 _He spins on his heel, giving me his attention._

" _Maybe it's time to meet with Dr. Denali?"_

 _His smile is small, but I know he thinks we need some help. "Yeah, baby. I'll talk to her_ _today, and we'll_ _schedule an appointment."_

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" _You don't even have ten minutes?" I know I sound like a bitch, but today is the last day of our window this month. I even let him off the hook last night. And my temperature is right, so it's go time._

" _Fine." He throws his bag into the armchair in the corner, tosses his tie over his shoulder and unzips his pants. His even less than_ _semi-erect_ _cock mocks me. There used to be a time he couldn't even look at me without getting hard. But now_ _..._ _Now sex is a task, something on our to-do list with a specific goal in mind._

 _I lie on my back, a pillow beneath my bottom, spread eagle, waiting for him to get hard. His hand does what I used to do, stroking and tugging, but we don't have time for the games we used to play, for the time to touch and explore._

 _He pulls me to the edge of the bed and steps between my legs._

" _Wait!" I stop him. "Don't forget the lube."_

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" _Positive?" His excitement nearly matches mine._

" _Positive," I whisper, happy tears filling my eyes._

" _We're having a baby!" He sweeps me into his arms, twirling me around as we both revel in our moment of happiness._

 _The years of disappointment, the doctor's visits, the medications, it's all paid off. We've finally succeeded in creating a tiny person made completely of our love._

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" _I'm sorry, Mrs. Cullen, but the miscarriage was incomplete." The emergency room doctor gives me a look of pity, one I'm all too familiar_ _with_ _. "We'll have to perform a D &C. Are you familiar with—"_

" _I am," I reply, my voice robotic. "This isn't the first time."_

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The covers are a tangled mess like they are every night I come here; as if he battles an unseen enemy as he sleeps.

I slip off my shoes, leaving them under the bed, and climb up into the pile of sheets and blankets, letting the layers of soft cotton surround me. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still feel his warmth, him having only left the bed minutes before. I pull his pillow to me and breathe deep, allowing the smell of him to fill my senses. The scent has changed over the many months I've been sneaking back into his bed. No longer us ... only him.

He was never very particular about changing our sheets, content to let the familiar scent of our life and love cling to the fabric much longer than I ever did. He told me more than once our bed smelled of us, smelled of home, and he couldn't get enough of it. At the time, I would crinkle my nose and say how disgusting it was. But now... Now I would give anything for this bed to smell like us ... _our_ bed.

Getting him to help me change the bedding was always a challenge, but necessary, since I couldn't manage the chore on my own. At five foot three, wrestling a king-sized mattress wasn't an easy task.

The fact that he's been alone for the past year, left to his own devices, the sheets don't get changed nearly often enough ... and I couldn't be more grateful. His scent lingers, and it's the only way I can sleep. The need I have for him, even now, almost swallows me whole on some days.

Burrowing further into the blankets, I try to block out the last year of my life, to pretend it hasn't happened, that I am still his and he is still mine. But the light of the street lamp shines at just the right angle to illuminate the stark, white, folded pages of our divorce papers, delivered just last week, lying on his dresser. The fact that he hasn't yet signed them gives me hope. But I also know I can't do that to him. I meant what I said that day.

He deserves so much better.

I toss and turn, sleep being more elusive tonight. I shift my body, rolling onto my side, my face brushing against the edge of the pillow on what used to be my side of the bed. The faint, floral scent is foreign, and it makes me nauseous before I can exhale.

The thought of him bringing another woman to our bed brings me to my feet, and I run for the bathroom, expelling the contents of my stomach. I'm on my knees, the vomit burning its way up my throat as tears, snot, and wails of pain spill from me.

It's exactly what I wanted for him, to find happiness. To find a woman who could give him what I never could. Someone who wouldn't continue to disappoint him year after year. It's everything I wanted, yet nothing I can bear.

When I've cried all the tears I can cry, I pull myself to my feet. I flush the toilet, rinse my mouth, and turn back to the bed. The bed where another woman has been. I know I shouldn't be here. I know I should leave. But the comfort I find in the seemingly innocuous sheets and blankets draws me back. It's like a drug, and I'm an all-too-willing addict.

Careful to stay on his side, I turn away from the blatant proof of his shared company and close my eyes in ignorance. If I pretend, maybe I'll truly believe I haven't lost him for good. My silent tears soak his pillow as sleep finally claims me.

The chiming of my cell phone alarm rouses me from my restless slumber, and I reach to silence it. I don't yet move from my place in the bed, relishing the scent and warmth surrounding me. My eyes focus on the faint light of morning beginning to shine through the window. Memoriesof other, happier mornings assault me. Gentle kisses and intimate touches were how we would start more days than not.

The only sound filling the space is the sound of my breathing, until it's ... not. The sound of rustling fabric has me on high alert, and my skin begins to prickle with the feeling that I'm being watched.

The clock on his dresser ticks as my breathing picks up, and my heart races. I know _he_ knows I'm awake; he always knew.

"Bella." His pleading whisper breaks the relative silence, and my heart races.

"I'm sorry," I say in a rush, throwing off the covers and scrambling out of bed. I turn my body, and my feet search out my shoes hidden beneath the bed. I don't dare look at him for fear I'll break down before I can flee.

My fingers fumble for the key in my pocket. When I finally retrieve it, my trembling hands hold it out to him in offering.

"Here." I thrust it in his direction. "I'm sorry; I know I shouldn't be here. And I'll leave and never come back. You'll never have to see me again." My voice is cracking under the pressure.

I lift my eyes to watch him stand and take careful steps toward me. "I don't want your key, Bella. I want you to come home. To stay."

I shake my head, angry tears fighting to be released. "I'm sure your girlfriend wouldn't appreciate me being here," I say, spite in my words.

His steps falter, a look of confusion on his face. "Girlfriend?"

"Yes. Girlfriend. I can smell her all over our bed!" I scream. While an exaggeration, her scent only faintly lingering on my old pillow, I hurl the accusation freely.

"What are you talking about, Bella? There's been no woman in our bed since you left me a year ago!"

"Then how can I smell perfume on my pillow?"

"Perfume? What perfume?" He stalks to my side of the bed and brings the pillow in question to his nose. Our eyes meet as he inhales, and his eyes narrow at me before he tosses down the offending bedding. "If you had been speaking to your best friend, you'd know Rose is..." He stops to clear his throat, looking down at the mattress separating us. "Rose is pregnant again." His voice cracks and what's left of my heart splinters just a little more. "She and Emmett were here last week for dinner, trying to cheer up my sorry ass, like they do every week, since all I do is go to work and come home to sleep. She had a headache and decided to lie down. Their boys were in the bed in the guest room, so this was the only place for her to rest. That's why you smell perfume in our bed. Bella, you have to know I'd never—"

"Pregnant again?" My pained whisper tears at my throat as the words are spoken.

"Yeah."

"How far along?"

"Almost five months."

"Five..." I turn and sit on the edge of the mattress, the words swimming around in my brain. "I've missed so much."

He slowly steps to my side, lowering himself before me, and takes my hand. "You have, but you don't have to miss anymore. Bella, it's time for you to come home."

"But I..." The words are stuck in my throat. "I've hurt you so badly," I croak. My tears begin to fall in earnest as I think back to all the harsh words we've exchanged. "And I still can't give you a family." I finally break down, all the years of pain, loss, and regret finally catching up with me.

He holds me as I fall apart, at some point cradling me to him and pulling us both into the bed, bringing the blankets over us. This space where we once had so many hopes and dreams is once again ... ours.

His reassurances and soothing words calm both me and my broken heart. His forgiveness is a balm to my tired and broken soul. His thumbs brush away my tears, and the grip of sadness begins to loosen, just slightly, from around my heart.

"I'm so very sorry, Edward. I just felt like I needed to leave so you could have the life you wanted, the one you plan—."

His finger lands gently on my lip, silencing me.

"It wasn't my plan, Bella. It was _our_ plan. And it was meaningless without you by my side. I didn't want a family with just anyone, I want one with you."

"But I can't—"

"We'll find a way. There are options we haven't explored yet. Surrogacy, adoption, anything is possible. But I only want it if it's with you."

He holds me close, and I soak up the love and attention I find in his arms. As my mind begins to process how we ended up here, in our bed, his arms around me, I'm puzzled.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"You weren't due home for another two hours. Why did you come home early? And you didn't exactly look surprised to see me."

"Can I ask you a question?"

I look up into his eyes as I'm still cradled against his chest. "What?" I whisper.

"Why did you sneak into our house every time I left for work?"

"You knew?" The shock is clear in my voice. "How did you—"

"Why, Bella?"

I snuggle into his chest, unable to look at him when I answer. "Because I couldn't sleep in my own bed. It didn't smell like you," I mumble, embarrassed.

"Why do you think I only changed the sheets when I absolutely had to?"

"Because you're an icky boy who's always enjoyed wallowing in his own filth," I tease, my voice still raspy from my crying.

"Bella, I didn't change my sheets because, just like you could smell me, I could smell you."

 **xXx**

"So the boys are staying here all week, then?" Edward is copying his shifts onto the whiteboard, making sure our schedules don't conflict.

"Yeah, probably. They're releasing Rose and the baby this afternoon, so I told her we'd keep them until she felt she could handle all three of them at the same time."

The months following our reconciliation have been filled with talks, sometimes heated, sometimes tear-filled, reconnecting with friends, and counseling for both of us, individually and together. The difference has been like night and day. And after agreeing to wait until we sort through our issues, the baby discussion hasn't been breached in many months.

Though, at our last joint session, our counselor, Leah, suggested we were close to being ready to apply to the adoption agency. After discussing it at length with Leah, we decided surrogacy wasn't a good option for us. The years of hormone therapy and fertility drugs had taken their toll on me, not only physically but mentally. I wasn't sure I could handle the disappointment if we were unsuccessful.

"Okay, well, I need to get going. Little Miss McCarty is waiting for her handsome pediatrician to sign off on her release forms," he says with a wink before kissing me quickly and heading for the door.

"Give Rose my love," I shout in his direction.

The tornado that is Evan and Ethan McCarty barrel through my kitchen, their superhero capes trailing behind them.

"Okay, you two, time for breakfast."

 **xXx**

"And she's how old?" I nervously chew on my thumbnail, the butterflies in my stomach threatening to take flight.

"She's eighteen, and the father is twenty." Edward's hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. He's driving us to the cafe where we agreed to meet, and I hope they don't expect me to eat anything. I'm far too nervous.

"Tell me again how you just _know_ this is it for us?"

"Because, baby, she came by the hospital _six_ times to see me. I knew she was looking for a family to adopt when she was in the ER the first time. She went on and on about how she didn't want the baby but wanted to pick the family herself. The agency she was going through, I guess the counselor she was working with was trying to steer her toward a closed adoption, and she got fed up, left, and never went back."

He turns to look at me before focusing back on the road. "I just happened to mention we were about to apply to an agency and hoped to do an open adoption." He shrugs. "She came back a few more times for minor things, asking for me to be the one to see her, and she eventually just asked me if she could meet you and if we might be willing to adopt her baby."

I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. "And she's six months along?"

"Yeah, baby. She's actually due on your birthday." His gentle smile reminds me of all the struggles we've had to face to get to this point, and his never-ending patience with me. I couldn't be more grateful for the forgiving, loving man at my side.

"Okay, we're here." He pulls into a parking space, right next to a Ford Mustang that's seen better days.

My eyes are drawn to the cafe windows, searching for the sight of a pregnant teenager, trying to get a glimpse of the young woman who has the power to change our lives.

"You ready?" His calm voice pulls me from my musings, and I offer a smile in return.

"I'm ready."

He gets out of the car and walks to my door, opening it and offering me his hand. I take a step toward the cafe, but he holds me back, bringing me into his arms.

"I love you," he says, looking down into my eyes.

"I love you, too."

"Whatever happens today, weeks, even months from now, don't ever lose sight of that, Bella. Even if we spend the rest of our lives just the two of us, it will be enough. I love our life together. If this little person is meant to be part of our family, it will only add to that love."

I look down, nodding against his chest.

"Okay," he says before placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

He leads us toward the cafe, opening the door when we reach it, and I step inside. My eyes search out the patrons, and they fall on an unlikely pair. The young man is tall and lean, his shoulder-length blond hair shining in the sunlight spilling through the window. He's hunched over the table, talking about something, his body language telling me he's passionate about whatever it is.

The young woman seated across from him is petite, delicate looking. Her features remind me of stories I've read of fairies. Her nearly black hair is cropped short, styled into feminine spikes. When her vivid, violet eyes meet mine, they widen. Edward, towering behind me, catches her gaze briefly before it settles back on me. The gentle squeeze of his hand on my shoulder tells me this is the girl, the young woman who holds the power to give us what we've waited so long for.

She struggles to get to her feet, her swollen middle hindering her from moving the way she's used to. When she finally manages to stand, she takes a slow step in our direction, and I take several to close the gap.

"Hi," she says cheerfully. "You must be Mrs. Cullen." She thrusts out her hand in greeting.

"Hello." My voice cracks, the emotion of the situation building in me, as I take her hand into my trembling one. "Please, call me Bella."

"I'm Alice Brandon. Nice to finally meet you. This here's my boyfriend, Jasper," she says, pointing over her shoulder to the young man more interested in his notebook than the monumental meeting taking place.

"And it's wonderful to meet you, Alice. My husband has spoken very kindly of you."

"Oh, that's good," she says with a laugh. "I'd hate to think he told you I was a bitch!" Her giggle is infectious, and I can feel the stress of anticipation begin to melt away.

"No, he had only good things to say about you."

"How about we take our seats, and we can talk a little more privately," Edward suggests before guiding us back to the booth Alice and Jasper were occupying when we arrived.

Edward takes a seat next to the young man, exchanging a quiet yet friendly greeting. I do the same as I settle in next to Alice.

"So, you want to adopt this baby, huh?" she asks as she rubs her belly like it's a used car up for negotiation.

I clear my throat. "If you think we're a good fit," I offer.

"Well, what I know of Doc Cullen, here, I think we're off to a good start. I've got a good feeling about you two."

Edward reaches across the table and takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. Everything we wanted seems to be within our grasp. Years of struggle, loss, and pain might finally be behind us. While it isn't the path we originally set out on, life has given us another option, a detour, to realize our dreams.

"Yeah, I have a good feeling about you, too," I reply, my eyes filling with happy tears. And as I watch the smile spread across Alice's face, I feel something I haven't felt in so many years.

Hope.


End file.
